


Our Secrets Lie in the Shadows

by Hero_of_Denerim



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Introspection, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hero_of_Denerim/pseuds/Hero_of_Denerim
Summary: They've been deep underneath the castle for days now, and they don't talk, and they don't sleep. They only work in that rather large cell they're forced to share.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chiiyo86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiiyo86/gifts).



> I just couldn't pass up this prompt, and I hope you don't mind! I always found the relationship between Percy and Ripley so interesting in its destructive antagonism whenever they met in the show.  
> I hope I could do them justice, and what you had in your mind when you wrote the prompt!

He doesn't like her.

It's something in her eyes, something dark, something haunted, something... ruthless. She'd kill him in a heartbeat if she thought that it'll benefit her.

Not that he's better, not really. Being forced to witness one's parents and siblings being slaughtered in front of his eyes has that kind of effect on someone, he supposes. But would he kill her, too? He glances over, watching her copy his notes and designs.

Yes, he would. If he got out of here, out of Whitestone long enough to find help, or even allies, he definitely would. Though he wouldn't enjoy it quite as much as he is certain she would.

They've been deep underneath the castle for days now, and they don't talk, and they don't sleep. They only work in that rather large cell they're forced to share.

He isn't troubled by it, or at least not remotely as much as he has thought he would be. It's not rage that keeps him on his feet, though. Rage makes mistakes. He doesn't. It's the cold, calculating thirst for vengeance, that has steadily increased since he has been thrown in here. It's the need to come out on top, to emerge from this hole that is the dungeon; maybe not unscathed, and definitely not sane, but emerge nonetheless.

And he'd rather drop dead now than include her in his escape. Mainly because he doesn't trust her. She has arrived with the Briarwoods, and he knows painfully well what trust in this kind of people has brought him. Death. Death and suffering. And it hasn't even ended yet, and it won't as long as he still draws breath.

They will eventually change that, and he won't grant them a head start by telling his plan to someone who might as well be their spy. He has always had that paranoid streak buried inside him. Why shouldn't he listen to it, now, when it finally might save his live instead of complicating it?

And he also really doesn't want to connect with her. It's bad enough that he, begrudgingly, respects her; not everyone could keep up with his pace, and she doesn't only keep up with it, but meets him eye to eye. In a different life, they might have learnt much from one another.

But he doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to feel sorry for her, doesn't want to hear her story. It would only keep him from pulling the trigger when the time comes; if it works, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers, but he pushes it aside. It's his design. It will work. And he will use it. Because he knows she won't hesitate, and neither will he.

It's easy to hide his additional designs in the shadows of their cell from her; he can hide anything in shadows that don't scatter when he moves the small lamp closer. He has tried that already.

Another thing he'll look into later, much later, when he returns to reclaim this place, that has become his birthright, and its people his responsibility; he'd find it delightfully ironic to claim a birthright he has never wanted, and still doesn't want, through death. He would, if it wasn't his family whose cold and broken bodies have been dumped and left somewhere to rot, and if it weren't his new charges that will suffer under the Briarwood rule.

Whenever his return may be. With whomever it may be. Definitely after he has finished perfecting his construction, and after he has finished perfecting his plans for vengeance, anyway.

It's a lot of work, but he can't really focus on anything else, if he's honest to himself. Which, really, he hardly is. But there's nothing else he could think about anyway, not here. Other than stalling and sabotaging their commission, as His Lordship has called it so smugly. He won't rest until he has wiped that smug grin from his face for good.

She suspects something, she's too smart not to; but she's also smart enough to understand that once they're done, their lives are forfeit, and it'll be only a matter of hours until the Briarwoods end both of them. If they're lucky, that is.

And there are shadows on her side, too. He is wary of it; she's keeping her secrets in there. He'd be stupid to ask her about it. But he'd be braindead to assume she didn't use it to her advantage. That's what he would do, and he's seen quickly that she neatly copies lots of what he does.

He feels her stare burning itself into his back. No, he doesn't like her. And he knows that if he lowers his guard just once, he'll be done for. But so will she. And if it's the last thing he ever does, he would go with a smile on his lips.


End file.
